


Adventures in Babysitting

by QueenC16



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Babysitting, Brothers, Gen, Greg is an interesting child to babysit, New Year's Eve, Post-Canon, Sibling Bonding, adventures in babysitting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:11:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3155255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenC16/pseuds/QueenC16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the parents are away, the boys (and frogs) will play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Off to the Party

“Greg, you remember the rules, don’t you?” Greg’s mom was bustling around the room frantically. One hand was digging through her purse, while the other pushed her thick brown hair out of her worried green eyes. Greg nodded earnestly. He’d made sure to practice remembering them after what happened last time.

“No cookies in the VCR. No bubble bath in the fish tank. No tobogganing down the stairs. No ordering pizza, even if the leftovers smell like feet. And no playing The Floor Is Lava," he listed proudly.

“And listen to Wirt. He's in charge tonight, so if he tells you to do something, listen to him.” added Mom. She had abandoned her purse and started excavating her dresser drawers. Clothes flew everywhere - a frilly pink shirt even landed on Greg’s head. He pulled it off and observed the one-woman hurricane that was his mom. She reminded Greg of a raccoon he’d seen in a video once. Both of them sure knew how to make a mess. She was wearing shiny flats and a velvet purple dress, which Greg thought were fit for a princess. But she certainly wasn’t acting like one.

“Oh, where did I put them?” she muttered. “Think, Mandy. If I were my car keys, where would I…oh.” Greg’s mom suddenly turned and dashed out of her bedroom and down the stairs, thumping loudly as she went. Greg frowned. If she could stomp all over the stairs, how come he always got in trouble when he did it? Didn’t seem all that fair to him.  
But the injustice was soon forgotten as Greg started to wonder where Mom was going. He quietly followed her, creeping down one wooden stair at a time. Whatever she was up to, somebody had to make sure she was okay. He was almost at the bottom when her heard her start laughing. Greg jumped off the last stair and eagerly ran through the kitchen to see what was going on. He of all people wasn’t one to miss out on a good joke or something funny happening.  
His mom was standing in the pantry, holding a set of silver keys in her hand. She was grinning at them and shaking her head. 

“Of course. They were by the key rack. I guess they just fell off…how silly of me not to check earlier.” Then she marched out of the pantry, past Greg and right over to the top of the stairs that lead to the basement. She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled.

“Okay honey, we can go!” 

“I'll be up soon, sweetheart!” Greg heard his dad reply from below. Man, parents could be so weird. He ambled over to his Mom and pulled on her skirt. She smiled, reached down and picked him up, which was no easy feat.

“Oof, Greg, I think you’re getting too big for pick-ups,” she grunted. Greg shook his head in protest. 

“No way am I too big! You can still pick me up, see?” She laughed again and leaned in close. Greg felt her nose rub up against his and rubbed back. Eskimo kisses were something he and Mom did all the time. She said it was to show how much they loved each other, which Greg knew was kind of mushy but still liked. 

“Mom?” asked Greg, after they pulled away. He needed to make sure she knew something. 

“Yes?”

“Dad’s name isn’t honey. That’s the stuff bees make - we learned that in science at school. Dad’s name is Dad. You’re married to the guy - don’tcha know that? It's important to know that." 

Mom smiled sweetly at him, which made Greg feel all warm inside. He liked it when his Mom smiled, especially when he was the reason why. Her eyes would always twinkle merrily, like Christmas lights on a string. Greg had discovered that he enjoyed making people happy a long time ago, even more so when those people picked him up and gave him Eskimo kisses. 

“Of course it is, Greg. We just like to call each other those names because they show that we love each other.”

“Like our Eskimo kisses?” Mom nodded. 

“Yes. Exactly like those.” Just then, Dad came upstairs. He was wearing a blue shirt with buttons down the front, a black belt that matched his dark hair and a pair of khaki slacks. Greg’s eyes widened. Dad sure didn’t dress like this every day - usually, it was a plain t-shirt and paint-stained jeans.

“Hey Mom! Dad looks clean today!” he said, pointing at Dad’s pants. Mom’s smile got wider.

“Yes, it’s a big day for your father.” Dad rolled his eyes at them and let out a sigh. But it was a good-natured sigh, and Greg soon found his hair being ruffled and his head being kissed. 

“Man, you and your mother will never give me a break about my clothes, will ya?” Greg puffed out his chest.

“Nope! Somebody’s got to keep you in line, mister.” Dad chuckled at Greg, which Greg found odd. He was being very serious, and was about to tell Dad so but then Mom grunted again.

“Greg, I’ve got to let you down now. Dad and I are gonna go to Mommy’s New Years Eve party, okay?” Greg sighed. He didn’t want them to go, but he relented. After all, they had a special occasion to get to.

“Alright.”

“That’s my boy.” Mom set him down and smoothed his hair. Dad quickly knelt beside him and gave him another kiss on the forehead. 

“Wirt!” called Greg’s mom up the stairs. “Wirt, we’re going now! Look after Greg, alright?” Greg heard a door open and a few seconds later Wirt appeared at the top of the stairs.   
A couple months ago, Wirt would’ve scowled at his family from up there, mumbling something under his breath. Maybe he wouldn't have appeared at all, depending on his mood. But now, using the railing as support, Wirt carefully walked downstairs to join the rest of the them.

“Hey Mom. Hey Albert. You two look great.” Dad stood up and smiled at Wirt affectionately. 

“Thanks, Wirt. And thanks again for babysitting Greg tonight.” said Dad.

“Hey!” said Greg indignantly. “I’m no baby!”

“Sorry, I meant looking after Greg tonight.” Dad corrected himself and Greg gave him an approving thumbs up. Wirt shrugged.

“No problem, as long as we don’t have another waffle incident, right Greg?” he said, eyeing his brother meaningfully. Greg gave Wirt two thumbs up. 

“You got it!”


	2. Showgirl Greg

After their parents left, Wirt turned to look at the clock. 

“Hey Greg, it’s pretty close to your bedtime.” Greg's mouth formed a pout and he crossed his arms.

“No it isn’t.” Wirt crossed his arms too.

“Yes it is, Greg.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yes.”

“Nope nope nope nope nope nope nope.”

“Greg, honestly -"

“But I don’t want to go to bed! I’m not tired, not at all! See?”  
To demonstrate how wide awake he truly was, Greg started doing a dance that was a strange, wiggly cross between the chicken dance and the electric slide. He flapped his arms, clapped his hands and shimmied like no tomorrow. Just to get an energetic vibe going, he began to sing a song about staying up late (completely improvised, of course). 

“Oh, I’m so awake, I’ll never go to sleep again.  
Instead I’ll jump around and play until I’m done and then  
I’ll eat a million waffles and seventeen hot dogs,  
And after that I’ll wear a hat and maybe wooden clogs!  
Oh, I’ll build a giant pillow fort, just for me and Wirt!  
Then Wirt and I can go outside and burgle us some turts!  
I’m gonna have the greatest time, that promise I will keep,  
The only thing I’m never gonna do is go to sleeeeeeeeep!”

Greg’s dance took him all around the kitchen: under the dining table, past the oven and around and the island in the middle. He finished off right by the fridge, complete with jazz hands and a loud “YEAH!”.  
Then he collapsed onto the linoleum, completely spent. His forehead was clammy with sweat and he was panting like a dog on a hot summer day. This whole staying awake thing was suddenly hard work.

“How do those Vegas showgirls do this?” he gasped. Wirt’s amused face appeared over him.

“Greg, I’m pretty sure showgirls don’t do whatever you just did, nor do they sing about burgling turts or eating seventeen hot dogs.”

“Yes they do,” insisted Greg. “They sing and dance and do fun stuff. And they get paid lots of money, so they can eat all the hot dogs and waffles they want - and that’s a rock fact, a real rock fact. So I’m gonna be one.” Wirt snorted.

“They don’t sing and dance like that. And since you’re a boy, they probably wouldn’t let you be a Vegas showgirl.” Greg stuck his tongue out at Wirt. 

“They’re gonna let me, you’ll see! I’m gonna be wearing all those fancy costumes with the glitter and giant feathers! Don’t you go pooing on my parade!” Wirt burst out laughing. His face flushed bright pink and he had to hold on to the fridge door handle to remain standing.

“Greg, the expression is ‘don’t go raining on my parade’,” he said between giggles. 

“Same thing,” Greg replied. Even in the face of such harsh criticism, he refused to let his fire be extinguished. Besides, anything Wirt had to say on the matter had to be taken with a grain of salt. Wirt knew a lot about playing the clarinet, writing flowery poetry and mooning over pretty girls, but none of that had to do with being a showgirl.  
“And besides,” continued Greg, "I think my way is better. Rain is fun and makes awesome jumping puddles! Jason Funderburker loves rain, and so do I. But nobody likes getting pooed on. That makes you all gross and stinky.” Wirt grinned and rolled his eyes at his little brother. 

“I suppose you have a point, Greg.” Greg sat up. 

“I suppose so too. Speaking of Jason Funderburker, I should really go get him. He’s missing out on all the fun!” Greg turned to run upstairs, but Wirt grabbed him by the arm.

“No. Sorry Greg, Jason Funderburker stays in his terrarium.”

“Aww, c’mon Wirt, pleeeeeeeeeeeease?” Greg clasped his hands and gave him the biggest doe eyes he could manage. But Wirt was not so easily moved.

“I said no, Greg. It’s just about bedtime for you, and for Jason. He needs to stay put so he can get some rest, and you need to start getting ready for bed.” Greg smacked his forehead with his palm. Had Wirt forgotten already? 

“Wirt.” Greg spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. “Wirt. We. Have. Been. Over. This. Already.” It didn’t work too well. Wirt pressed his lips together and frowned at Greg. Greg knew that look: it was the same look that his Mom got on her face when she was frustrated. Hmm. Maybe Wirt just wasn’t getting it. Not getting something after it was explained to you over and over could be frustrating, Greg understood that. He should probably just cut to the chase.

“Okay, Wirt,” he tried. “Here’s the deal: I am not tired. Not even a little. Okay? Got it?” Wirt just sighed and pointed upstairs. 

“Greg, I don’t want to have to ask you again. Can you please go upstairs to get ready for bed?” Greg opened his mouth to interrupt, but Wirt steamrolled on. "Look, I’ll do it too, okay? We can go together. Actually, I’d appreciate it if you went with me. We need to get Jason Funderberker ready for bed too, and you know how to do that better than me. So how about it?” Greg considered the offer. As much as he didn’t want to get ready for bed, Wirt had a point about Jason. Greg was usually the one who changed Jason’s water and told him his nightly bedtime story, so Wirt wouldn’t know how to do that. And Wirt would be getting ready for bed too, so at least it was fairer now. Greg would just have to be their leader again.

“Well, alright. I guess you do need my help. Don’t you worry about a single thing, Wirt - you and Jason are in good hands with me!” Wirt smiled and took Greg’s hand. 

“Thanks, Greg.”

Ten minutes later, Wirt and Greg were in their pyjamas and their teeth were squeaky clean. It probably wouldn’t have taken that long, but Greg had insisted on inspecting Wirt’s brushing job. Wirt had protested vehemently (“Seriously Greg, put that magnifying glass away!”) but Greg had known it was necessary. He was their leader, and leaders didn’t let their followers go to bed with plaque between their molars. After Wirt had been given a clean bill of oral health, they set about the task of picking out a bedtime story to tell Jason Funderburker.  
Since Greg’s Dad was a big reader - as were his sons - both Wirt and Greg’s rooms had large bookshelves which were almost fully stocked. The content of the books, however, was very different depending on which room you were in. Wirt preferred non-fiction and poetry, with the odd science fiction novel thrown into the mix. Greg found all three genres dreadful, but if Wirt wanted to read stuff staler than week old bread, so be it. Greg was more of a comic book and fairytale man himself, with the likes of Captain America and Goldilocks finding homes on his shelves. As such, Wirt and Greg both agreed that they ought to find Jason’s story in Greg’s room. The frog, however cultured and loyal, might just run away from home if he were forced to sit through the entirety of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Although it was technically a team effort, Wirt was doing most of the actual searching. Greg, as the leader, had taken it upon himself to supervise Wirt’s progress. 

“How about this one?” Wirt, kneeling in front of Greg’s bookshelf, held up a tattered copy of The Adventures of Tintin: The Blue Lotus. Greg shook his head.

“Nah, too long.” 

“Okay…this one?”

“Red Riding Hood scares him.”

“How about this?”

“Thor has too many noises. I can’t do them all.” Wirt gave Greg a rather pointed look over his shoulder.

“Greg, you know your bookshelf better better than I do. Could you help me instead of just sitting on your bed? You know, the best leaders lead by example.” Greg thought about it. What Wirt was saying made sense. Maybe if he showed Wirt the kind of stories that frogs liked to listen to, he’d learn.

“Sure thing.” Greg hopped down from the bed and crawled over beside his big brother. He searched through a couple of piles (Greg tended to just throw his books into a haphazard mountain, whereas Wirt’s were always neatly filed) until he came across the perfect story. 

“This one,” he said, holding it up for Wirt to see. Wirt smiled and nodded his approval. Greg let out a whoop of delight, grabbed a blanket and hurried over to Jason’s terrarium. Even though Jason was the family frog, Greg had agreed to keep him in his room, which suited him and everyone else just fine. He was usually him who looked after Jason anyway, and he was the one who found him in the first place, so it was only fair that Jason stay with Greg.  
Jason Funderburker had a spacious glass terrarium, half water and half land, with two food and water dishes nestled in the various plants that also occupied the space. In consideration of Jason’s inability to croak, they had trained him to use a little desk bell to alert them whenever he needed something. Wirt had done a lot of research prior to getting the terrarium, so they knew that Jason would be happy there. It had taken them four pet stores and three days to find the perfect little world for a frog, but it had been worth it. Only the best for their musical companion.

“Okay, you ready for your story, Jason?” Jason hopped out from underneath some leaves and rang the bell. Greg smiled at the frog and then handed the book to Wirt. Wirt looked at him, surprised.

“Me?” Greg nodded.

“Sure, why not? He’s our frog, not just mine.”

“I suppose he is…alright Jason, here we go.” Wirt cleared his throat and Greg curled up beside him. As Wirt recounted the tale of The Snow Queen, Greg didn’t really pay attention to the actual story. It was just nice to cuddle with his brother, cocooned in a fluffy blue blanket, listening to his steady voice. 

“…And when Gerda and Kay returned, they had grown into adults, and it was summer, glorious summer.” Wirt finished. He closed the book and placed it by Jason’s terrarium. 

“Thanks for the story, Wirt.” Wirt ruffled Greg’s hair, much like his stepdad had done, scooped him up in his arms and carried him to bed. After tucking him in, Wirt gave Greg a kiss on the cheek. 

“Goodnight, Greg. I’ll see you in the morning,” whispered Wirt.

“‘Night, Wirt.” With that, Wirt switched off the light and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. Greg sighed contentedly, and rolled over on his side, ready to go to sleep. But just then, Jason rang the bell loudly. Greg sat up and looked across the room. Jason Funderburker wasn’t usually this noisy after bedtime. 

“Jason, you gotta be quiet now. It’s time to go to sleep!” hissed Greg. But Jason pounded the bell again, even louder this time. Greg stroked his chin thoughtfully. What could possibly be wrong with that frog? They’d read him the bedtime story, turned off the light and said - 

“Oh no,” gasped Greg. Of course. That was the problem. Wirt had never said goodnight to Jason Funderburker! Greg threw off the covers and slid out of bed. Tired or not, he was still the leader, and if one of his followers wasn’t okay, he’d do his best to fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read this and enjoyed it!  
> This chapter update was pretty quick, but school and choir might not give me as much free time to write as I'd like. Just bear with me - I'll try to make my updates within a week of each other.  
> The real action starts next time. See you then!


	3. Search and Rescue

Ding! Ding! Ding!”

“Shh, Jason, we don’t want to annoy Wirt.” Greg murmured. He delicately lifted the glass covering off of Jason Funderburker’s terrarium. 

“Ding! Ding!” Jason looked up at Greg mournfully. 'Poor little guy,' thought Greg. 

“I know, Jason. I know. We’re gonna go see Wirt, and we’re gonna get him to say goodnight to you, and then we’re gonna go to sleep. Sound good?” Jason perked up a little, and he took his foot off the bell. Greg assumed that meant yes. 

“Okay Jason, let’s do this.” Greg lifted Jason up and out of the terrarium, and gently carried him to his bedroom door. He could already see the warm yellow light in the hallway streaming through the space underneath the doorway. Maybe it would be a good idea to warn Jason of what was coming.

“The light’s gonna hurt your eyes a little. Just squint at first, and then you’ll be fine.” Little by little, Greg turned the knob and pushed the door open. 

“Ugh.” Greg squinted against the painful brightness and Jason hid his head in the crook of Greg’s arm. As he blinked and rubbed his eyes, Greg padded down the narrow hallway that lead to his brother’s room, which was where Greg assumed he was. When he got there, however, he was greeted with a wide open door and a dark, empty room. Well, that was peculiar. Wirt had just gotten ready for bed - where was he supposed to go except for his room? Greg shook his head. 

“That brother o’mine sure acts funny sometimes, doesn’t he?” Jason almost seemed to tilt his head in agreement. Greg peered into the room. The open doorway bathed Wirt’s bed and some of his floor in light, but the rest of the room was as shadowy as a the crumbling ruins of a castle from times gone by. Greg had never been in Wirt’s room before. Their mother said that Wirt was just a private person, but Greg was sure he was hiding something in there. It was like that book Greg’s mom had read to him once, about an ordinary-looking but magical wardrobe that lead to a faraway land. Every time he’d asked Wirt if he could see, he had refused, often by slamming the door right in Greg’s face. Granted, Wirt had been nicer about it lately, but the answer was still always no. But Wirt wasn’t here now. Greg knew he had a task to complete, and he really, really shouldn’t, but...  
Greg put his right foot across the threshold, then the left. Slowly, but surer of himself with every step, Greg entered the forbidden room.   
It was more cluttered than he had expected it to be, and messier. The clothes that Wirt had worn today lay in a crumpled heap on top of his dresser. Several unfinished books, still open to the last page Wirt had read, were strewn randomly around the cushy bed. Sketches of Roman pillars and domed cathedrals littered the floor. Greg peered around the room, trying to find something that looked out of place, anything that could be hiding something. That was when he noticed the closet. It lay at the back of the room, squished into a corner. Greg just had to see what was in there. Quiet as could be, he crept over to it and pulled on the door handle. There was a loud creeeeeeeak, which made him wince. He glanced warily outside the door, but the noise hadn’t alerted Wirt to the intruder in his bedroom. Greg turned back to the closet and gently eased the door open. There were a couple more noises, but nothing loud enough to be concerned about. When the closet door finally opened all the way, Greg let out a small gasp.   
Hanging in the closet was…well, Greg wasn’t sure what it was. It was brown and hairy and it towered over him. At first Greg thought it might be the skin of a wild beast, only then he saw the zipper going down the front. It also had a vest hanging with it, and a green sword-thingy that Greg wasn't familiar with. It was, beyond all doubt, the coolest thing Greg had ever seen. So this was what Wirt was hiding - it had to be! Consumed by curiosity, Greg grabbed hold of the garment and gave a mighty tug. Fortunately, it came off of its hanger with relative ease. Unfortunately, it landed right on top of Greg and Jason Funderburker. 

“Hey!” Greg kicked and struggled under the garment, desperately trying to escape its fuzzy clutches. After thirty dramatic seconds, he felt open air and pushed towards it. He emerged victorious at last, and gave a long sigh of relief. Jason wriggled out from beneath Greg’s arm and jumped up onto his head. 

“Wow, that was really something, huh?” Greg exclaimed. Suddenly, Greg heard the stairs whine and creak under someone’s footsteps. His stomach dropped down to his toes.

“Uh oh.” Thinking quickly, he nudged the closet door shut with his foot and crawled under the bed, making sure that every last little bit of the garment and Jason were tucked safely away with him. His heart drummed away in his chest and he clung to Jason like a drowning sailor clutching a life raft. Boy oh boy, was he deep in it now. He should have just turned around and walked away from Wirt’s room, but it was too late. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed with all his might that Wirt would decide to go to the bathroom, without checking on Greg and certainly without coming into his room. But the footsteps only got louder and louder.  
With a click of a light switch, the formerly dim room was suddenly much brighter. There was a great groan from the mattress as Wirt collapsed onto the bed above Greg. 'Thanks for nothing,' thought Greg resentfully. There was nothing he could do now but wait until Wirt either fell asleep or left the room. Greg prepared to clasp his hands in prayer, thinking maybe this time he’d bribe the powers that be with a week’s worth of desserts, but then he heard Wirt speak.

“ Look, I really wish I could help, but I’m babysitting tonight, remember? Can’t you call Jason or somebody?” There was a brief pause. “Wait, are you serious? No one else you know is answering?” Another pause. “Do you think we can be home by ten? Yes? Alright, I’ll do it, but I’ll have to bring him with me. Like I said, there’s no way I can just leave him here by himself…No, no, don’t worry about it. I’ll see you soon. Just stay right there and don't move an inch. Okay? Okay. Bye.” There was a beep, and then Greg watched Wirt’s legs as he got off the bed and walked out of the room, carrying the house phone in his hand. His footsteps were more urgent than before. Greg frowned. Where was Wirt going now?   
It when was a doorknob turned and Wirt started calling his name that the penny dropped.

“Greg? Greg, where are you? Greg?” Greg swallowed nervously. What on Earth was going on? Where were they going, and why was he coming? And what was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t just keep hiding forever, especially now that the jig was up, but he had a nagging suspicion that Wirt was not going to be too pleased with him if he found him under his bed, with the secret treasure, no less. Greg sure didn’t want that.  
While Greg was weighing one risk versus the other, Wirt ran down the hall in a frenzy, tearing apart every closet and leaving no door unopened. Greg could hear the sounds of towels tumbling to the ground and doors flying open, slamming against the walls. Five minutes of searching later, Wirt barrelled back down the hallway, calling Greg’s name all the while.

“Greg?! Greg, this isn’t funny! If you can hear me, please come out!” Wirt’s voice was loud as ever but oddly strangled and kept cracking. Wirt entered his room at full tilt, immediately going for his closet. He flung the door open and began looking on every shelf and digging through every recess. Greg felt somewhat guilty about causing all this trouble. He started to think that he should probably come out, and was trying to decide whether or not to do so when the decision was abruptly made for him.  
Wirt was suddenly face to face with him and his expression was shocked and furious.

“Out. Now.” Greg gulped and crawled out from under the bed, carrying Jason Funderburker with him. His hands felt shaky and his knees kept wobbling. As soon as he was on his feet, Wirt grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Greg, what were you doing out of bed? And why were you in my bedroom?! How many times have I told you not to come in here?!” Wirt’s eyebrows knitted together as he looked at Greg in askance. “When I told you to go to bed, I meant it. I had no idea where you were - you could’ve been anywhere! Do you how scared I was when-“ Wirt clamped his mouth shut, but the words were already out. A tidal wave of shame crashed over Greg and his shoulders slumped forward. He hadn’t meant to make Wirt worry about him so much.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Wirt. I promise,” he said quietly. Wirt quickly tried to backpedal.

“No, no, it’s okay. You’re safe and sound, and that’s all I care about, alright?” Greg looked up at him. Wirt was giving him a small but sincere smile, which made Greg feel a little better. Still, the fact that he’d made Wirt unhappy still bothered him. Then Greg remembered something and felt queasy. 

“Wirt, I stole your treasure, too. Does that make me a double stealer, now that I’ve been a stealer twice?” Wirt put an arm around him and drew him in close. Greg reciprocated, putting Jason down and throwing both his arms around Wirt’s waist. Wirt was warm and secure, and Greg could feel his worries fading away. Wirt patted him on the head.

“No, Greg, you aren’t a stealer. You’re a great brother and - wait. My treasure? What do you mean, my treasure?” Wirt gave him a funny look. Greg let go of Wirt, reached under the bed and pulled out the furry garment. He held it up so that Wirt could see. To his surprise, Wirt chuckled.

“Greg, that’s just my old Chewbacca costume. To be completely honest with you, I forgot it was in there.” Greg frowned.

“Huh? What’s a Chewbacca?”

“Chewbacca is a movie character, from a science fiction series called Star Wars,” explained Wirt. But that only confused Greg more.

“Star Wars?” 

“I’ll explain it to you on the bus. Speaking of which…” Wirt eyed his alarm clock, which read 8:17 PM. “We’d better go, Greg."

“Go where?” Wirt sighed, worry clouding his face.

“Sara’s bike got stolen while she was out this evening. She’s on the other side of town, she has no money, her cell phone is almost dead and we were the only people she could reach. I know we aren’t supposed to leave the house, but Sara’s adrift out there, a ship cut loose from its moorings. Only we can bring her back to shore.” Greg could see how distressed his brother was, so he tried to comfort him.

“Oh, we don’t need to worry about Sara drifting anywhere, Wirt. Even if she fell in the river, I bet she could swim. Sara’s got arms of steel!” Greg flexed his biceps to illustrate said arms of steel. Wirt groaned and rolled his eyes.

“It’s a metaphor, silly.”

“Hey, I’m not silly, you’re silly! And what’s a met-a-phor?” Greg asked.

“Again, save it until we’re on the bus. Come on, we have to make it to the bus stop soon if we want to catch our ride on time!” Wirt grabbed Greg by the wrist and began to drag him away. Greg just barely managed to grab hold of Jason Funderburker and shove him into his pocket. As he was rushed through the hall and down the stairs, Greg grinned in anticipation. He’d never done a search and rescue mission before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I got it updated! Honestly, I'm surprised. My life has been so busy lately that I was having serious doubts about when the next chapter would go up. But here we are. Also, I just had to throw those Star Wars and Narnia references in there. And yes, I'm aware that Chewbacca carries a gun and not a lightsaber. But something tells me Wirt's mom wouldn't have approved of her then eleven year old toting a gun around, even if it was fake. Hence, the lightsaber.   
> I am so pumped for the next chapter - I have a lot of it planned out already. The trouble those boys and that frog are going to get into...  
> Anyway. Happy Reading.


	4. A Bus Ride Gone Awry

As expected on a New Year’s Eve, the whole town was in a state of festivity. Laughter from nearby homes bled out into the cool wintery air. Cars full of people lined the streets, on their way to their own parties. Crystal snowflakes fell from a moonless sky, landing like chilly kisses on Greg’s nose. The three of them, Wirt, Greg and Jason, stood under the twinkling glow of a tree all strung up with Christmas lights. Greg couldn’t help but gawk at it. Every colour of the rainbow and more could be found in its boughs, and if he squinted, the lights looked almost like leaves, growing on a tree from another planet or dimension.

“Uh, Greg?” Greg tore his gaze from the tree and looked up at his brother. Wirt was peering down at him with a perplexed expression. 

“Yeah?”

“You’ve been ogling that tree for the past several minutes. Are you alright?” Greg beamed at Wirt and nodded.

“It looks like a fairy tree, Wirt! It’s really neat-o!” Wirt gave him a strained smile in return. 

“Yes, it does look rather ethereal.” He turned his head to look down the road, chewing his bottom lip anxiously.

“It’ll be here soon,” he whispered. Greg didn’t have to ask to know what he meant. They had been waiting for the bus for about ten minutes now. It was, according to Wirt, usual for this particular bus to be a minute late, maybe two, but not ten. But Greg wasn’t that worried. They had lots of time, and it would probably be there in a little while. 

Just then, the bus pulled up in front of them. Wirt took Greg by the hand and, holding out his bus pass and three dollars for Greg, stepped aboard. Greg looked around in awe. He had never taken a bus before in his life. Everything about it, from the handles dangling from the ceiling to the shiny advertisements above the seats, was new and exciting. But there was one particular sign that caught his eye. It read “No pets permitted except for guide dogs. No exceptions.” He felt Jason Funderburker stir in his pocket. 

“You’d better stay out of sight, Jason,” he whispered, patting his pocket.

“Waddaya think you’re doing, little fella?” asked a gravelly voice. Greg turned around to reply, but then stopped when he realized where the voice was coming from. The bus driver, a surly, crotchety-looking old man, was directing his baleful gaze right at Greg. The wild spark in his eyes, his copious amounts of body hair and the way he sat hunched over the steering wheel gave him the appearance of a bear - a big, grumpy grizzly bear. Greg gulped.

“I’m not doing anything, mister,” he said. It seemed like a reasonably safe thing to say.

“What about those funny-looking pants?” Greg glanced down at himself. He was met with purple sheep-patterned flannel. Whoops. 

“These are my pyjamas, mister.”

“...Uh huh.” The bus driver side-eyed him curiously. Wirt hastily stepped forward, dropped the three dollars in a little plastic box, grabbed Greg’s transfer and marched them to the back of the bus. 

“Huh, he isn’t my usual driver,” said Wirt softly as they took their seats. “She must be at a New Year’s Eve party of her own. I suppose that also explains why the bus is so behind schedule.” Greg breathed a small sigh of relief. He hadn’t been found out. Boy, it was a good thing Wirt didn’t ride the bus with this guy every day. The bus gave a sudden lurch, almost sending a startled Greg out of his seat. With that, they were off. For a few minutes, they stared silently out the windows, watching their town fly by them. Greg tried (several times) to engage in a game of punchbuggy with Wirt, but all that got him was an evil eye and a cold shoulder. Oh well. There were other fun things to do while travelling, like watching strangers. Wirt would probably stop being moody once they got to Sara.  
Greg’s legs swung absentmindedly as he observed the people around him. Greg liked people-watching; strangers could be so interesting. There weren’t that many other passengers on the bus, but there were a couple. A petite old woman, hands folded neatly, sat a few seats down from them on their right. Jewelry adorned her wrists and ears. Her posture was straight as a ruler and her face as firm as stone, giving her an air of grace and dignity. By contrast, sitting across from her was a shabby-looking young man, probably in his twenties. The scraggly stubble and threadbare jacket spoke of hard times, but the man didn’t seem particularly abashed by his appearance. He was bent over a book with the expression of a food critic enjoying a good meal. Huh, Wirt kinda looked like that when he read books.

“Hey Wirt, look at that guy. He likes books, just like you!” Greg exclaimed. Wirt, who had been staring at his toes with a melancholy expression, turned and gave Greg a look of annoyance. 

“It’s rude to point, Greg. Especially at strangers,” he snapped, returning to his sulking. Greg stroked his chin thoughtfully, wondering what he could do. Wirt wouldn’t be so touchy forever, he knew that. But maybe he need a little push. ‘I should do something to cheer him up,' thought Greg. And what better to cheer up his brother than a good old fashioned riddle?

“Wirt.” Wirt kept staring out the window. “Wiiiiiiirrrrrrrrt.”

“Go away, Greg.” Greg scowled.

“But I have a riddle for you! Can I tell it to you pleeeeeeease?” Wirt huffed. 

“Fine.” Greg’s face lit up.

“Okay, why do fish live in salty water?”

“Because some fish are more suited to a hypertonic environment.” Greg sighed impatiently.

“No, it’s because pepper makes them sneeze!” he answered. Wirt’s cranky expression remained in place. He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to stare out the window again. 

“Humph, Wirt wouldn’t know a good joke if it bit him in the behind,” muttered Greg to Jason Funderburker, who remained hidden away in his pocket. Well, if Wirt was intent on being the world’s biggest grump, that was fine. He’d be fine again in a bit. In the meantime, Greg and Jason could have fun without him. Jason had been very good, staying in his pocket the entire time. Surely that deserved some kind of reward.

“C’mon, Jason, let’s play a game!” Discreet as could be, Greg slipped Jason out of his pocket and into his hand. 

“Alrighty, Jason, here’s how this game is gonna work. It’s called Greg Says, okay?” Jason sat perfectly still, listening attentively. “I’m gonna say some actions, and you’re gonna do them, but only if I say, ‘Greg Says’. If you do something and I don’t say ‘Greg Says’, you’re out. Got that?” Jason blinked and stared at him. Greg took that as a yes.

“Okay…Greg says, jump once!” Jason complied. 

“Nice job! Greg says, jump twice!” Again, Jason followed the instructions.

“Greg says, jump three times!” Jason did so, looking rather smug - or at least, Greg thought he did. He gave the frog a sly smile. Perhaps he should let him know whose game he was playing. 

“Jump four times!” Jason jumped up and down blithely, unaware of his rule infraction. Unfortunately, he kept jumping higher and higher, and landed his third jump a little wonky. Instead of landing in Greg’s palm, he went flying across the bus and directly into the face of the old woman. She immediately froze. Greg froze too, his mouth forming an “o”. The young man looked up and, startled, dropped his book on the floor. The bus was eerily silent for a few moments.  
But it couldn’t stay silent forever.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! GETITOFFGETITOFFGETITOFF!” Her voice shattered the peace like a sledgehammer. For such an old bird, she sure was loud. She shook her head back and forth violently, trying desperately to dislodge the frog. Jason, unsure of what was going on and very frightened indeed, clung to the old woman’s horn-rimmed glasses for dear life. Wirt’s head snapped up and his eyes grew round and wide as he took in the scene: a shrieking elderly woman wrestling with a frog stuck to her face, a young man and his younger brother watching in horror and a red-faced mountain man of a bus driver slowly turning around. Oh sweet holy Moses, the man looked ready to kill.

“Greg. Why is Jason here? Greg, what have you done?” squeaked Wirt. Greg looked up at him, completely at a loss for words, and shrugged.  
The bus pulled over and came to a screeching halt. The bus driver stood up slowly, marched to the back of the bus and stopped, arms folded. He towered over everyone else there like a volcano about to erupt.

“So,” he asked, ominously calm. “Whose frog is that?” He pointed to Jason. Greg swallowed hard. The honest part of him wanted to stand up and admit his guilt. But another side of him, the side that his body seemed to be listening to, was screaming at him to stay seated and keep his mouth shut. He could barely breathe. What was he to do?

“Excuse me.” Wirt stood up. He was paler than the snow outside, but he looked the bus driver right in the face. “I’m afraid that I am the one to be held responsible for this frog. Please return him without harming him and we will keep him restrained for the remainder of our journey.” Greg had never felt so grateful for Wirt’s big mouth in his entire life. The bus driver glowered at him.

“Oh, you’ll get your froggy back. But this journey is over for you.” He deftly snatched Jason from the old woman’s sunglasses and dropped him in Wirt’s hands. “You have your slimy thing back. Now. Get. Off. My. Bus.” The boys didn’t have to be told twice.

 

“Hmmph. What a bunch of meanies,” said Greg to himself, kicking at a stray pebble. He and Jason were sitting on a park bench, waiting for Wirt to figure out where they were supposed to go. 

“Well, that’s just great.” After his brief moment of heroism, Wirt was back to his worried, prickly self. His eyes roamed the map he’d brought with him. “We made quite a bit of headway on the bus, but we’re only about halfway across town. We only have forty minutes now - there’s no way we can get to Sara in time!” Wirt threw the map down and raked his fingers through his hair. Greg hopped off the bench and approached his brother. It seemed like Wirt was really upset and could use some helpful suggestions.

“Can’t we just take another bus? Maybe one without silly gooses who hate frogs?” Wirt sighed again and glowered down at Greg. 

“It’s geese, Greg. And no, we don’t have enough money to take another bus and make a return trip home. Since I thought we would be taking the bus all the way to the south end mall, I only brought enough for a bus trip there and back.” Well, that was a problem. But Greg thought he knew something that just might work.

“Hey, Wirt, if we rented bikes instead of taking the bus, would we have enough money then?” Wirt raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Well, that really depends on the rental shop and how long we would be borrowing the bikes for, but it is possible. Why, do you know of one nearby?” Greg nodded.

“Yeah, we’re really close to my friend André’s house. There should be a rental store a little ways down the street. Here, I’ll show you!” Greg grabbed Jason Funderburker and ran as fast as he could, with Wirt following close behind. Maybe this search and rescue mission had gotten a little out of hand, but that was okay. They were back on track.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little longer - like I said before, busy life. I'm just glad it's updated. Anyway. Expect some cute brotherly moments next time, I know we've been somewhat lacking in those. I am really looking forward to writing them...


	5. Found At Last

As they whipped down main street, past a slew of strip malls, Greg couldn’t have been more pleased with himself. Riding a bike was a lot of fun, especially when he didn’t have to put in any kind of effort. As it turned out, the owner and mechanic of the rental shop had been doing maintenance on most of the bikes. The least expensive one that was still in stock was a neon green double decker with painted flames on the sides and a good-sized basket in the front.

“Yeah, Fiona was one of the first bikes I ever got in stock. She came around back in ’78,” the store owner had said as she patted the bike proudly.

“Erm… Fiona?” asked Wirt. The owner gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah. Fiona. You got a problem?”

“N-no.” Wirt was clearly in no mood to tangle with the tough-looking mass of muscle. A couple minutes later, they had rented the bike and were on their way. Since the second seat was obviously reserved for Sara and Greg couldn’t reach the pedals anyway, Wirt had decided to shove him into the basket. It was a tad squishy, but Greg was okay with that. With the air rushing past his feet and the streetlights beaming down like stars above, he felt like he was flying. His helmet was kind of a pain, though. Wirt, in his typical mother-hen fashion, had done it up so tight that the buckle pinched Greg’s chin. But Greg could deal. After all, he had been very lucky to get out of the shop without elbow and knee pads.  
Wirt, on the other hand, was not nearly so content witht the arrangement. Sweat ran in cold rivers down his forehead and made his hands slick, and his face was tomato red.

“Oof, Greg, you might want to think about laying off the molasses,” he puffed. Ever since their return from The Unknown, Greg had been experimenting with molasses on just about everything. Watermelon, steak, broccoli, rice - you name it, he tried it. Greg turned around and stuck his tongue out at Wirt. 

“Like I’d ever give up molasses. Molasses is the best thing I have ever eaten!”

“Even on asparagus?” Greg scrunched up his face. That particular experiment hadn’t gone very well.

“Okay, maybe not like that.” They rode without speaking for a few minutes. Even with Wirt panting hard behind him and the sour smell of gasoline in the air, it was a relaxing ride for Greg. The background noise of the busy town and steady rhythm of of the basket swaying back and forth, ever so slightly, made for an odd kind of lullaby. Greg leaned back and sighed contentedly. He had almost drifted off to sleep when he suddenly had a thought.

“Hey, Wirt?”

“Yes, Greg?”

“Are you and Sara dating or what?” Wirt groaned as if in physical pain.

“Greg, can we not talk about this right now?” 

“But I wanna know!” Greg persisted. “She’s really nice, Wirt. And she likes Jason Funderburker - the frog, not the human. If you guys are a thing or whatever, that’d be kinda cool. So, are you?” 

“Yes. I mean no. I mean, I’m really not sure what we are at this point,” said Wirt. Greg frowned.

“But didn’t you guys listen to that tape you made together? It had poetry and music, right? Aren’t girls supposed to like that mushy stuff?” Wirt sighed heavily. ‘Oh boy,’ thought Greg. ‘Here it comes.'

“Well, we listened to it together, and she said it was sweet of me to do that for her. And we have started hanging out more often than before, just the two of us, so I guess that’s a good sign. But I don’t know if she really likes me or if all this is just out of pity or what. I mean, what if she hates poetry and clarinet and just didn’t have the heart to tell me? Sara doesn’t strike me as an overly sentimental person. She kicks people as a leisure activity, for crying out loud!”

“Wirt, I think you’re thinking too much again. If you don’t know how Sara feels, can’t you just ask?” Wirt gripped the handlebars hard.

“No, no, no! Greg, I know romance looks so simple when you’re a little kid, but it really isn’t. You have to communicate and be willing to show who you truly are and even that doesn’t always work! You can bare your soul to somebody and they might still reject you! What if she says she doesn’t like me and she thinks mixed tapes are silly?” Greg laughed.

“Wirt, Sara wouldn’t be that mean, even if she does kick people for fun. I think she really likes you, but even if she doesn’t, she’d still be your friend. She’s cool like that. Besides, no matter what, you’ve got me and Jason Funderburker.” He heard Wirt chuckle weakly behind him. 

“Um…thanks, I guess? I can’t date my little brother or a frog, though.”

“That’s fine. We’ll just go out for ice cream and listen to you cry about girls.” This time, Wirt gave him a real laugh.

“Okay, but we have to get triple scoop sundaes with chocolate sauce and cherries.” Greg gave Wirt a double thumbs up - one for him, one for Jason.

“Sounds good to me!” Greg looked up at the sky. It was getting awfully dark. “Say, Wirt, are we close yet?” Wirt stopped the bike and looked around properly. They were almost at the end of main street. It was noticeably quieter here and there were a lot more houses. 

“Actually, yeah, I think we are.” Wirt pointed to a sign that read "111 Ave”. “The address she gave me is on 112 Avenue. Now we just need to get over there and find a Nike store. I’d better check the time…” Wirt gasped. "Oh, for the love of Pete!" 

“Who’s Pete?” asked Greg. Wirt hopped back on the bike and began peddling at a breakneck pace. 

“It’s an expression, Greg!” he shouted. "An expression that means that we are VERY short on time and we’d better find Sara right now, at once, immediately!” Greg shook his head.

“Wirt, you and your expressions are weird.” 

“Oh, shh, Greg. I’m trying to pedal!”

“You shh!”   
They flew around the corner and across the street. There was a loud BEEP as a turning car almost hit them, but Wirt remained unfazed. He was focused on one thing and one thing only: getting to Sara. Wirt’s legs pumped furiously, showing no signs of his previous fatigue. Greg threw his hands up in the air and yelled “WHEEEEEEEE!”

“Greg, cut it out!” demanded Wirt. “I can’t see!” Greg put his hands down and pouted.

“What a party pooper,” he said to Jason, who had remained deep in his pocket for the entire ride. Going this fast made the frog understandably nervous. To keep himself occupied, he began scanning the area around him, checking for any signs of Sara. In a matter of minutes, all light from the sky had nearly vanished, making the search somewhat difficult. Maybe he ought to try calling for her instead of just blindly searching. He cupped his hands over his mouth and hollered.

“Saraaaaa! Oh Saraaaaa! Come out, come out wherever you are!” Wirt joined in.

“Saraaaa! Where are you?” they called. Just then, Greg heard a voice call back. It was so quiet he almost missed it, but it was definitely there.

“Over here!” it said. Wirt pedalled even faster. The wind howled by them and Greg was suddenly very grateful for his helmet.   
Out of the blue, Wirt pushed down on the brakes hard and the bike came to a screeching halt. Greg had to grip the sides of the basket to keep from tumbling out. He almost turned to ask his brother what was up, but then he saw what Wirt had seen. Ahead of them stood a tall figure with a bike helmet tucked under their arm. They stepped forward into the glow of the streetlight and smiled. They'd found her at last.

“Well, this is a surprise,” said Sara, waving at Greg. “I thought you said you’d be taking the bus.” She squinted at them. “Are you two in your pyjamas?” Wirt’s cheeks turned redder (which, shockingly, was still possible) and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“…We were kind of in a hurry.” Sara snorted.

“Yeah, I guess so.” She walked over and mounted the seat behind Wirt. “Hey, thanks for coming to pick me up.” 

“Well, uh, sure,” said Wirt. He looked down at his watch again and the blood quickly drained from his cheeks. “It’s a quarter to ten. There’s no way we’ll make it home in time.” 

“Oh, come on, Wirt. Have you forgotten who you’re riding with? Sara, the karate champ?” Sara punched him playfully on the shoulder. “Don’t even worry about it. We’ll go more than fast enough to get you home.” Greg clapped his hands in anticipation. If the ride there had been fun, the ride home looked twice as promising with Sara aboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have found Sara - hallelujah! At first, I wasn't really going to do Wirt x Sara, but it fit well with the story and I like the ship, so why not? I know this chapter is a little shorter than previous ones, and I'm not sure how long the final chapter, which will be coming up next, is going to be. I'll try to make it a little bit longer.   
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter - stay tuned!


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